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The Country Editor ^^ 




BUSHING COMPANY 



Successful Rural Plays 

A Strong List From Which to Select Your 
Next Play 

FARM FOLKS. A Rural Play in Four Acts, by Arthur 
i-EWis Tubes. For five male and six female characters. Time 
of playing, two hours and a half. One simple exterior, two 
easy interior scenes. Costumes, modern. Flora Goodwin, a 
farmer's daughter, is engaged to Philip Burleigh, a young New 
Yorker. Philip's mother wants him to marry a society woman, 
and by falsehoods makes Flora believe Philip does not love her. 
Dave Weston, who wants Flora himself, helps the deception by 
intercepting a letter from Philip to Flora. She agrees to marry 
Dave, but on the eve of their marriage Dave confesses, Philip 
learns the truth, and he and Flora are reunited. It is a simple 
plot, but full of speeches and situations that sway an audience 
alternately to tears and to laughter. Price, 25 cents. 

HOME TIES. A Rural Play in Four Acts, by Arthur 
Lewis Tubes. Characters, four male, five female. Plays two 
hours and a half. Scene, a simple interior — same for all four 
acts. Costumes, modern. One of the strongest plays Mr. Tubbs 
has written. Martin Winn's wife left him when his daughter 
Ruth was a baby. Harold Vincent, the nephew and adopted son 
of the man who has wronged Martin, makes love to Ruth Winn. 
She is also loved by Len Everett, a prosperous young farmer. 
When Martin discovers who Harold is, he orders him to leave 
Ruth. Harold, who does not love sincerely, yields. Ruth dis- 
covers she loves Len, but thinks she has lost him also. Then 
he comes back, and Ruth finds her happiness. Price 25 cents. 

THE OLD NEW^ HAMPSHIRE HOME. A New 

England Drama in Three Acts, by Frank Dumont. For seven 
males and four females. Time, two hours and a half. Costumes, 
modern. A play with a strong heart interest and pathos, yet rich 
in humor. Easy to act and very effective. A rural drama of 
the "Old Homstead" and "Way Down East" type. Two ex- 
terior scenes, one interior, all easy to set. Full of strong sit- 
uations and delightfully humorous passages. The kind of a play 
everybody understands and likes. Price, 25 cents. 

THE OLD DAIRY HOMESTEAD. A Rural Comedy 
in Three Acts, by Fpank Dumont. For five males and four 
females. Time, two hours. Rural costumes. Scenes rural ex- 
terior and interior. An adventurer obtains a large sum of money 
from a farm house through the intimidation of the farmer's 
niece, whose husband he claims to be. Her escapes from the 
wiles of the villain and his female accomplice are both starting 
and novel. Price, 15 cents. 

A -WHITE MOUNTAIN BOY. A Strong Melodrama in 
Five Acts, by Charles Townsend. For seven males and four 
females, and three supers. Time, two hours and twenty minutes. 
One exterior, three interiors. Costumes easy. The hero, a 
country lad, twice saves the life of a banker's daughter, which 
results in their betrothal. A scoundrelly clerk has the banker 
in his power, but the White Mountain boy finds a way to check- 
mate his schemes, saves the banker, and wins the girl. Price 
15 cents. 

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 

PHILADELPHIA 



The Country Editor 

A Comedy in Three Acts 



By 
WARD MACAULEY 

Author of ^^Examination Day at IVoodhill School" 

**Lazy Bob Par kins y'' ''Mr. Editor,'' **Pollin 

Picks a WifeT etc. 




PHILADELPHIA 

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 

1915 






Copyright 191 5 by The Penn Publishing Company 



CI.D 41796 



SEP 22 1915 



The Country Editor 



CHARACTERS 



Frank Hartley 

JOSKPH SaWTELLE 

Jim Holman 
Josh Larrapee 
John Dawson 
Oliver Buck 
Mr. Bolivar 

SCHULTZ . 

Mr. Jenkins | 
Mrs. Jenkins ) 
Bessie Sawtelle 
Emily Faxon . 
Mrs. Pettigrew 



Time of Playing 



the editor of the ^'Free Lajice " 

Pi nevi lie's leadins^ merchant 

a star reporter 

a delinquent subscriber 

a labor inspector 

a lawyer 

. with a proposition 

a pressman 

. recetitly wed 

, the merchanf s daus^hter 

a clerk in Mr. Sawtelle' s store 

a source of news 

—An hour and a half. 



THE STORY OF THE PLAY 

The theme of this play is a strong appeal for better 
journalism. Scene, a country editor's office. Mr. Bart- 
ley, the editor, believes in printing all the news truth- 
fully, even if it hurts his own interests. The state labor 
department is going to prosecute Mr. Sawtelle, owner of 
the leading department store in town, for allowing illegal 
conditions on his place. Bartley refuses to suppress the 
news though Sawtelle and his daughter Bessie, whom Bartley 
loves, beg him to do so. '* 1 wouldn't kill a story to j)lease 
my best friend. I can't do it and be honest." Bessie hears 
some testimony from a salesgirl and aj^peals to her father, 
who begins to weaken. Bartley's telegram to his friend at 
the capital gets Sawtelle an extension. Prosecution will be 
stopped if changes are made at once. Mr. Sawtelle agrees, 
and all ends happily. A play presenting a stirring theme, 
with a funny Dutch character and two newlyweds to add to 
the humor. 



COSTUMES, ETC. 

Bartley. a prepossessing young man of twenty-five, 
with an earnest, somewhat determined bearing. Wears a 
business suit. 

Mr. Sawtelle. Forty-five. A vigorous, sharp-eyed 
man, accustomed to being obeyed. Stout, with gray 
checked trousers and dark coat. 

Bessie. An attractive girl of twenty-two. Acts I and 
II, suit and hat ; Act 111, pretty street dress and hat. 

HOLMAN. A happy-go-lucky youth of twenty-five. 

Larrapee. Forty. A farmer, in old trousers, collarless 
shirt and heavy shoes. 

Dawson. A large, blustering man of thirty-five, with a 
gruff voice. Business suit. 

Buck. Forty. Tall and thin, with a professional man- 
ner. Immaculately dressed in a black suit. 

Emily. Twenty-two. Neatly but shabbily dressed in 
black skirt, white shirt-waist and apron. 

Bolivar. Thirty-five. Flashily dressed, but this part 
should not be burlesqued. 

ScHULTZ. Forty. A stout German, in grimy trousers, 
black apron, old shirt ; sleeves rolled up and no collar. 

Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins. A very young couple, the 
latter in a bride-like costume of flower hat and dressy suit. 

NOTE 

None of the costumes in the play should be ridiculous. 
Anything of an unduly pronounced type should be avoided. 

Those who take the parts of Bartley, Bessie, and Mr. 
Sawtelle should study to speak their lines with great earnest- 
ness and as though vitally interested in the issue. It is es- 
sential that Bartley win the audience to his view of clean 
journalism. 

PROPERTIES 

Small photograph for Bartley, newspaper and telegraph 
blank for Holman, document for Dawson, basket of potatoes 
for Larrapee, small magazine, documents and pen for 
Bolivar. 



SCENE PLOT FOR ACTS I AND II 




SCENE.— Editor's office of the Pineville ''Free Lance." 
Editor's desk, up l., with telephone, books and papers on 
it. Holman's desk down r. Bookshelves about the room. 
Framed motto and picture of an old lady on rear wall, k. 
Doors R. and c. 

SCENE PLOT FOR ACT III 




SCENE. — Mr. Sawtelle's private office. His desk, with 
telephone, l. c. Table, with ledgers, papers, etc., down r. 
Row of shelves with files, journals, etc., in rear. Door c. 



The Country Editor 



ACT I 
SCENE. — Editorial room of the Fineville ^^ Free Lance. '^ 

{The curtain discovers Frank Bartley, in his shirtsleeves^ 
working at his desk. He has proof sheets in his hand 
and his desk is piled with papers of various kinds. Bart- 
ley finishes his proof-reading and looks the papers over 
as though in search for something that is missing.) 

Bartley (calling off, r.). Oh, Jim, come here a minute. 
[After a mometit, Jim Holman etiters, r.) 

HoLMAN. What is it, Frank ? 

Bartley {throwing the proof sheets tozvard him). Find 
that article about Bud Kemper's mortgaging his house so 
that he could buy an auto. 

Holman. I don't believe the ''Free Lance" is carrying 
a story about Kemper's mortgage, Frank. 

Bartley. The correspondent turned one in, didn't she, 
Jim ? 

Holman. Why, yes, I think I did see something about 
it, but Bud told me he'd a little rather the ''Free Lance" 
didn't mention the matter. Thought it might hurt his 
credit in town, I guess. 

Bartley. Look here, Jim, you and I know each other 
pretty well. I call you Jim and you call me Frank. That's 
all right. But please remember that I am the editor of the 
"Free Lance." Don't ever kill any story without my 
consent. 

Holman. Hang it all, Frank, I didn't know the thing 
was so blamed important as all that. It wasn't much of an 
item anyway, only about four lines. 

Bartley. Important enough for Bud to ask you to keep 
it out. Let me give you a pointer, Jim. Our paper's going 

7 



8 THE COUNTRY EDITOR 

to be run on the square. We'll give the people the news 
straight. 

HoLMAN. It's all right to talk, Frank. It sounds mighty- 
heroic and all that, but wait until you've got a story that it's 
to your interest to kill. I'll bet it'll die a mighty sudden 
death. If you want to get along in this world, you want to 
do people favors when they ask 'em. 

Bartley. Anyway, it's up to me, Jim. So let me see 
any items you aro going to alter or suppress. Have you 
got the story of that meeting over at Benson last night? 

HoLMAN. It was a frost, all right. There weren't fifty 
people out, and they sat in their seats like mummies. When 
the chairman called for three cheers for Boales, he had to 
make a solo of it. 

Bartley. Let me see the story. (Holman passes hi?n 
four or five large sheets of scrap paper, carelessly scribbled 
over. Bartley examines tJuni hastily.) Look here, Jim, 
this doesn't chime in with what you just told me. You 
said there was a cold crowd of fifty. Your story says that a 
mob of two hundred completely filled the hall and gave him 
the greatest ovation ever given a candidate in Benson. Now, 
I want you to write that story again. You needn't tell all 
you know, but all you tell must be the truth. 

(Holman sits down by Bartley and argues earnestly with 
hi?n.) 

Holman. See here, Frank, Boales is our party candi- 
date, isn't he? We've got to do the best we can for him. 
How would it sound to say that he got a frost up at Benson ? 
It isn't business. 

Bartley. It's the truth, isn't it, Jim ? What's a news- 
paper for, even a one-horse weekly like the **Free Lance " ? 
if a grocer sold you short weight or spoiled goods, you'd 
say he was dishonest, wouldn't you ? How about a paper 
that sells news that didn't happen? 

Holman. Oh, go on, Frank. I thought you were an 
editor, not a preacher. 

Bartley. Look at it another way. Every man up at 
Benson will read your article. A good many of them will 
know what really happened. What confidence would they 
have in the *' Free Lance " if they read such a story as this ? 

{He holds up the sheets, ) 



THE COUNTRY EDITOR 9 

HOLMAN. Well, that's so. 

Baktley. Of course it's so. Then, again, when they 
read the ** Free Lance," they'll say, *'l"liere's a square 
paper. It says what's so, even against its own candidates.'.' 
Tiie greatest asset a newspaper can have is the confidence of 
its readers. 

Holm AN {scoffingiy). There's a bunch of them bank- 
rupt, then. 

Bartley. Take it back and work it over. Tell the 
truth without apology. It will do Boales more good than 
trying to lie to people who know what happened. 

(Holm AN takes up his sheets and turns to his desk down r.) 

HoLMAN. This telling the truth is all right, old boy, but 
wait till some friend of yours wants you to kill a story. 

(^Enter Josh Larrapee, c, bearing a bushel basket of 
potatoes.') 

Larrapee. Here you be, Mr. Ed'tor. Here's a bushel 
o' potatoes. They're sellin' for seventy-five cents. That 
brings me up to a year ago last February. Mebbe later on 
I'll bring you some maple syrup 'n' pay for another six 
months. 

Bartley. But, Mr. Larrapee, I'm boarding. What can 
I do with all those potatoes ? 

Larrapee. Make your landlady take 'em in trade. She 
uses 'em on the table every day, don't she? Well, next 
time you pay her, just pass 'em over the same as cash. 

Bartley. Take 'em right out of my purse, eh ? 

Larrapee. I never did b'lieve in payin* out money 
much. Money's the root of all evil. I say give goods for 
goods as much as you can. 

Bartley. If money is the root of all evil, Mr. Larrapee, 
a country newspaper office comes close to being about the 
most righteous place on earth. Look here. If I've got to 
take those potatoes, you'll have to take them over to Miss 
Lindley's and explain to her about this no money proposi- 
tion. 

Larrapee. I'm the man to do that. I was thinkin', 
Mr. Ed'tor, that you might be needin' a bit o' household 
goods, includin' provender, at your own place pretty soon. 

Bartley. My own place? What are you talking about ? 



10 THE COUNTRY EDITOR 

Larrapee (jvifiking ludicrously^. In my left eye ! Don't 
be so innocent. You can't purtend worth a red. You 
a-buzzin' around Bessie Sawtelle like a circular saw ! If 
your paper printed the truth, Mr. Ed'tor, it'd say you two 
was engaged. 

HoLMAN {looking up from his desk). How about that, 
Frank? Shall 1 write it up? 

Baktley. Yes, if you can get a confirmation from Miss 
Sawtelle. 

Larrapee. Sure you don't want these taken up to her 
place for a little weddin' present ? 

Bartley. You take them up to Miss Lindley's. Get 
along with you. 

Larrapee {taking up his basket). I'll see you about 
maple syrup time, Mr. Ed'tor. An' don't forget to send 
the paper pretty reg'lar. 

{Exit, C.) 

Bartley. Jim, if this keeps up, I'm going to open a 
general store to sell off the stuff we get for subscriptions. 

HoLMAN. Let's have an auction. By the way, shall I 
ask Miss Sawtelle for a confirmation of that rumor ? 

Bartley. Better let the editor do it. 

{Enter John Dawson, c.) 

Dawson. Is the editor in ? 

Bartley. I am the editor. 

Dawson. Who's the owner or manager? 

Bartley. I am the owner and manager. 

Dawson. I am from the State Labor Bureau. 

{He exhibits his credentials.) 

Bartley {looking at the certificate 7vith interest). Why, 
here's James P. Krauss' name signed. Do you suppose 
that's Jim Krauss from up Belleville way ? 

Dawson. That's the man, I guess. Do you know him? 

Bartley. I should say so. His father and mine were 
cronies when they were boys. Well, what can I do for you ? 

Dawson. You can show me through your place. That's 
what you can do for me. 

Bartley. All right. Where do you want to go first — 
the press-room ? 



THE COUNTRY EDITOR H 

Dawson. We go everywhere, see ? From cellar to gar- 
ret. The chief says to make a clean sweep. If you're obey- 
ing the law, well and good. If not, we're after you. I'm 
not particular which. 1 get the same pay-check either way. 

Bartley. This way, Mr. 

Dawson. Dawson's the name. 

{Exeunt^ R. Holm an industriously but rather disgustedly 
works over the story at his desk. After a ?noment, enter 
ScHULTZ, R. Moves L. ^Holman's desk?) 

ScHULTZ. Hey, dere, Chim, vere is dot story vot you 
tol(i me to vait for ? 

Holman {disgusted ). The chief made me work it over. 

(^Continues writing.') 

ScHULTZ. The chief made you work him over, eh ? 
Veil, how does he expect me to ged oudt dot newspaper on 
dime ven 1 sit aroundt after my make-ready's all ready 
vaiting for you to vork over somedings ? Vich is importanter 
ven a paper is being getted out — a foreman or an editor? 

Holman {wearily). Ask the chief. Take it from me, 
Schulizy, I didn't want to work the thing over. 

ScHULTZ {angry). Veil, I aind't behindt time of my own 
fault if I sit aroundt and vait undt look wise, while you fel- 
lers dond't like vot you write already and have to work him 
over. Dot's no goodt, das ist nix ; nuddings, as you say, 
von dime's less than von. 

Holman. Better tell that to the chief. 

ScHULTZ {shouting). I dond't care vot I tell it to — I 
know vot's vot and vot ain't. Vy shouldt I sit oudt dere 
vaiting loafing, ven we ought to have our paper oudt, und 1 
vait for one leetle bit of a piece of gopy. 1 dell anybody, 
der pres'dent or editor or anybody vot 1 dink aboudt vasting 
my dime. 

Holman. Say, Dutchy, do you want this copy? 

ScHULTZ. Aind't I told you vonce already 

Holman. You'd get it a lot quicker if you'll let me 
alone. 

ScHULTZ. And vot vill I do vile I leave you alone, sit 
aroundt und look wise? 

Holman. Keep still. I had this story nearly ready when 
you butted in. 



12 THE COUNTRY EDITOR 

SCHULTZ {lookmg at his watcK). Veil, I vill butt out 
again, but dake my wor(j[ 1 allows you just fife minutes. 

(^Exit, R. HOLMAN in great haste dashes off lifie after 
line. He finishes with a sigh of relief.') 

HoLMAN {calling off r.). Hey, there, Scbultzy, she's 
ready for you. 

(^Enter Schultz, r., pantingly.') 

ScHULTZ. Am 1 an errandt-boy already so soon ? Which 
is more importanter, a pressman or a reporter? (He grabs 
the pages.) Don't holdt them all day; 1 got a paper to get 
oudt, yet. 

(Zr«? starts toward door.) 

HoLMAN. Don't talk so much, then. 

Schultz (coming back). Talk so much? Who was 
talking so much? Nod me. I dond't say nuddings; 1 
yust keep vorking and keep my mouth shut. 

(He turns to exit.) 

HoLMAN. What are you doing now ? 
Schultz (at the door). Vot is dot your business? It is 
not. Dummkopf ! 

(^Exit, R.) 

(Efiter Dawson ^m/ Bartley, r.) 

Dawson. Cellar to garret's a quick job in this place. I 
guess I can give you a clean bill o' health. You have no 
women employees, and the law in this state lets you work 
men twenty-four hours a day, if you want to. Remember 
what I told you about leaving rags or papers in the corners. 
'N' remember, I'm likely to come any time, like a thief in 
the night. 

Bautley. Come whenever you like, Mr. Inspector. 

Dawson. Sawtelle's store's right on this street, I suppose ? 

Bautley. Sure. Everything in this town is right on 
this street. It's about a block north of here. 

Dawson {at the door). S'long, but remember, keep 
things up to the mark, because 1 come like a thief in the 
night, 

{^Exity c.) 



THE COUNTRY EDITOR I3 

Holm AN. That chap's going to make trouble, Frank. 
{Takes paper and pe7icil from desk, and puts them iji his 
pocket?) Guess I'd better trot along to Sawtelle's store and 
hear the row. 

Bartley. Keep your shirt on, Jim. There may not be 
any row. 

HoLMAN. All right. I see. When there's a good story 
on Miss Bessie Sawtelle's father you 

(Bessie SAWTELLE^Z/ff^ri- c.) 

. Bartley {sharply). Shut up, Jim. 

(HoLMAN turns and sees Bessie.) 

HoLMAN. Oh, excuse me. 

{Goes to his desk, sits, and be^iiis to write?) 

Bessie. Is the editor in ? {Smiles.) 

Bartley. Right this way. {He leads her r., to the 
editor's desk.) Mr. Editor, a lady to see you. (Holman 
is writing industriously at his desk. Bartlev beJiind Bes- 
sie /r^«//Va//v motions for Holman to leave. Holman pre- 
tends not to ufiderstand.) Oh, Jim, you might interview 
Jerry Stockley on how it feels to live in the poorhouse. 

Holman. I've got the story in my pocket now. 

Bessie {pleadingly). But, Mr. Editor, my business is 
very important. I have an item which must be in the paper. 

Bartley. But, Bessie, the paper is on the press now. 
Won't next week do? 

Bessie. Not for this 

Bartley. Jim, go out and get space somehow for Miss 
Sawtelle's item. 

{Holman jumps up and dashes to the press-room. Exit, r.) 

Bessie. I knew you would do it, Frank. The ladies at 
the church are to have a social next Tuesday, and we knew 
it wouldn't be a success unless the '' Free Lance" gave us 
a notice. Here it is. 

(Holman dashes in r., closely followed by Schultz.) 

ScHU[TZ. I haf got a question to ask you, Mr. Bartley. 
Ven my make-ready is all ready und 1 say '* let 'er sliver," 



14 THE COUNTRY EDITOR 

if I haf to stop my press to put in vot der ladies is doing, 
my paper is late, am 1 to blame aind't it ? You tell me. 

Bartley. We'll take care of that. 

ScHULTZ. Dot's all right, you'll take care of dot. But 
how does that help me gedt my paper oudt? As I vas say- 
ing, I haf godt my make-ready all ready, and then 1 say 
<'go" and you say "stop," dot is absolutely nuddings. 
Such a doings ! 

Bartley. How does discussing the matter help, Mr. 
Schultz? 

ScHiJLTZ. I know vere you are and you know vere I am, 
dot's how, and ven der paper is late, who is to blame, nodt 
der pressman, aind't it? 

Bartley. Oh, run along, Schultzy, be a good fellow ; 
put that item in somewhere even if you have to leave out 
some of that "■ Replies to the Love-Sick " stuff. 

Schultz {taking the paper and turning to door grum- 
blingly). Be a goodt fellow's all righdt, but how does dot 
help me ven I got my make-ready all ready ? 

{^Exit R., 77iumbling, followed by Holman.) 

Bessie. I have often wondered who wrote the replies for 
that ''Replies to the Love-Sick " column. 

{Sits at desk up l.) 

Bartley. Why, Jim and I write most of 'em. 
Bessie. But who is that motherly old lady whose picture 
is here at the top of the page? 

{Picks np paper from desk.') 

Bartley. Aunt Matilda? Strictly speaking, she is a 
figment. 

Bessie. A figment ? 

Bartley (c). Yes, of the imagination. Isn't she a 
nice old lady, though ? Do you know, Bessie, when I write 
those answers I always try to imagine that 1 am a nice old 
lady, just like that. 

Bessie. I'm afraid I shall never ask the old lady for any 
advice, now that 1 know her identity. 

Bartley. You never can tell. (Holman enters, R., 
unconcernedly afid seats himself at his desk down R.) Have 
you covered your beat, Jim ? 



THE COUNTRY EDITOR I5 

HOLMAN. Nothing doing now, Chief. 

Bartley. Better looic up some news. 

Holm AN (holly). Well, 1 told you where the big story 
is, and you won't 

Bartley. Beat it, Jim. 

Bessie. Thank you so much, Mr. Editor, for putting in 
my article. Now I must be going. (J^ises.) 

Bartley. No, not yet. 

Bessie [surprised). Oh, yes, I must. 

Bartley {turning aside to Holman). Get out of here, 
Jim. {To Bessie.) 1 have a business matter to speak to 
you about. 

Bessie. Business ? 

Bartley. Sure. Newspaper business. — Better see if you 
can't scrape up some news, Jim. Press day'U come 'round 
soon enough. 

Holman. Where shall I go ? 

Bartley. Go? Go anywhere, but come back with a 
good story. What am 1 paying you for, anyway ? 

Holman. And you won't let me follow Dawson and 

Bartley {patiently). No, Jim. Not now. Beat it. 

(Holman goes out slowly and as though reluctantly, c.) 

Bessie. Now, Mr. Editor, what can I do for you? 

Bartley. Er — everything, that is to say, a good deal. 
Bessie, I thought I never should get a chance to see you 
alone. I want to ask you something. Please sit down. 

Bessie. Is this a business matter ? 

{She sits again at desk, l.) 

Bartley. Strictly. A story came into the office this 
morning concerning you. 

Bessie. Concerning me? Dear me, I hope it wasn't 
anything bad. 

Bartley (l. c). Some people might say it was. I 
think it's the best story that ever came into this office. 

Bessie. Of course, you will print it? 

Bartley. Before we print anything, we try to get con- 
firmation. Some papers print first and find out afterward. 
Then, if they are wrong, they apologize in about three lines 
on an inside page. 



l6 THE COUNTRY EDITOR 

Bessie. Dear me, don't you see that I'm just bursting 
with curiosity — and here you wander on and on ! 

Bartley. Well, Bessie, the story was to the effect that 
you are engaged to be marrieci. 

Bessie. Indeed ! And did your informant mention the 
name of the gentleman ? 

Bartley. One who loves you very much. 

Bessie. Did he give you his name ? 

Bartley. He said that it was the editor of the *'Free 
Lance." 

Bessie (;7i/;/^). Then I cannot confirm your story, Mr. 
Editor. It is without foundation. 

Bartley {^pleading). Bessie, dear, I know that very 
well, but 1 want you to make it true. That is the way in 
which 1 want you to confirm it. You know that I love 
you. Why, Bessie, I believe I've loved you ever since that 
night I struck Pineville and saw you down by the depot. 
There has never been any one else. There never will be. 

Bessie. Why, Frank, I thought all this talk about that 
story was joking. {She is standing by desk, L.) 

Bartley. No, you didn't, Bessie. You know well 
enough that I wouldn't fool about such a thing. 

Bessie. Well, maybe 1 do. 

Baktley. You are not indifferent to me, are you, 
Bessie? 

Bessie. Why, of course not, Frank. We have been tod 
good friends for me to be indifferent to you. 

Bartley. Only friends? Bessie, when I love you so 
much, is it to be only friends? 

Bessie. What do you wish it to be ? 

Bartley. 1 want you to be my wife. Listen, Bessie, I 
may not have much to offer you 

Bessie. You have offered me the best thing any man 
can offer a girl, Frank — your love. 

Bartley. I want you, Bessie. I need you. I've got 
an up-hill fight, I realize that, and 1 don't want to prom- 
ise you' that everything will be smooth sailing. It may 
not be. 

Bessie. What do you mean by an up-hill fight, Frank? 

Bartley. Listen, Bessie. 1 want to tell you that the 
fight for clean journalism is the biggest problem m this 
country to-day. 

Bessie. Clean journalism ? 



THE COUNTRY EDITOR IJ 

Bartley. Yes. Whether a man is the owner of the 
biggest city daily or a one-horse country weekly, he has a 
chance to fight on the right side, l.want you to understand 
all this before you say whether you will marry me. 

Bessie. But, Frank, what do you mean by the right 
side? 

Bartley. You know what I mean. Printing the news 
without fear or favor. Think of how much harm I could 
do by printing an untrue scandal on my front page next 
week, even though I deny it later on. Half the people 
don't read the apology and most of the rest think it was 
true, anyway. Then an honest editor won't suppress news 
to please an advertiser; he won't lie for his party. Why, 
there's our motto right there. {Points to motto on wall.') 

Bessie {reading). " The truth — no matter whom it 
helps or hurts." 

Bartley. Then an honest editor won't pubhsh advertise- 
ments of whisky or fraudulent investments or habit-forming 
drugs. This paper loses a lot of money because we won't 
advertise fake medicines. I can't promise you, Bessie, that 
we shall ever be rich. 

Bessie. It doesn't seem as though one ought to want to 
get rich by injuring other people. 

Bartlev. That's the stuff ! Spoken like the half-owner 
of the "Free Lance" ! Now, these other fellows say that 
you can sell your space to anybody that can pay for it, and 
then he's responsible for what he puts into it. 

Bessie. But that seems reasonable. 

Bartley {ear?testly). No, Bessie, it isn't. When my 
subscribers see an ad in my paper, they feel that the **Free 
Lance" is backing it up. At least, 1 want them to feel 
that way. I wouldn't be in old Schemp's boots for any- 
thing. He's the editor of the ** Herald" over at Shell- 
haven. He published a mining investment ad and one of 
his subscribers, a poor old woman with only a little bit 
of insurance money left to her name, lost over five hundred 
dollars. 

Bessie. Oh, I heard about that. 

Bartley. Well, I couldn't sleep nights if I had done it, 
but old Schemp only said, "It wasn't my ad. 1 didn't 
have anything to do with it." 

Bessie. He ought to be ashamed of himself. 

Bartley. So you see, Bessie, I'm frank in telling you 



l8 THE COUNTRY EDITOR 

that I don't know what sort of future is ahead of me. The 
" Free Lance " is going to be clean. Whether it succeeds 
or not, we shall have to wait to see. 

Bessie. Oh, Frank, it's noble to try to do what you are 
doing. 

Bartley {eagerly). Then you will say yes ? 

Bessie. Oh, that is another matter altogether, Frank. 

Bartley. But I love you, Bessie 

Bessie. This is a very serious matter. 

Bartley. Serious for me, 1 can tell you. 

Bessie. I think 1 ought to have some advice about it. 

Bartley. Nonsense, Bessie dear. You know your own 
heart. 

Bessie {inischievously). Suppose I write to Aunt Ma- 
tilda and see what she says. 

{Picks up paper from desk and points to picture.') 

Bartley {gleefully). Fine. I know what Aunt Matilda 
will say. (He picks up a scratch block from desk.) Come 
on, let's write it together. 

Bessie {firmly). No, let me write it. {She sits at desk^ 
L., and takes the tablet from his hand.) *'Dear Aunt 
Matilda. A young man is very much in love with me." Is 
that correct ? 

(Bartley stands l. c, in front of desk.) 

Bartley. Underscore the very much. 

Bessie. '*He is young but not handsome." (Bartley 
makes a wry face.) ** He is a newspaper man, more inter- 
ested in ideals than in making money. Shall I accept him 
or look further?" 

Bartley. But she will want to know how you feel 
toward him. 

Bessie {writing). " I am not indifferent to him " 

Bartley. Let me see that [)aper. {She rises and comes 
doion L. He takes paper from her, though she makes a 
pretended effort to retain it. What he sees seems to please 
him immensely, for his face becomes wreathed in smiles.) 
That's glorious. 

{He tries to put his arm around Bessie, but she eludes him.) 



THE COUNTRY EDITOR I9 

Bessie. Now, Frank, not until Aunt Matilda's answer 
appears in the paper. 

Bartley {dashing off a few lines). Pshaw — that would 
mean a week. Here's her answer, ** Yes, marry him and 
help him." Now, may I confirm that story? 

Bessie (^demurely'). No, indeed. Not until I read what 
Aunt Matilda says in the <*Free Lance." 

(Bartley hastily grabs both papers and rushes toivard the 
press-room door, R.) 

Bartley {at the door). Hey, Schullzy, stop the press 
and work this in, if you have to leave out the biggest story 
you've got. 

(Bessie co77ies doivn c.) 

ScHULTZ {entering r.). Good-night ! Haf I got to stop 
my press again alreadty? Taugennichts ! Dis iss chil- 
dren's play. 1 am a man grown up already and my make- 
ready 

Bartley {joyously). Oh, keep still, Schultzy, and get 
this in, no matter what you leave out, or I'll throw a book 
at you. (ScHULTZ takes the papers and exits R., grumbling. 
Bartley comes down l.) The paper will be out in an 
hour, Bessie. Hurray for Aunt Matilda! May I come 
up to the house to-night ? 

Bessie. Thursday night, young man. I think you have 
made progress enough for one day. 'I'o-morrow night's the 
social. 

(Bartley comes closer to Bessie. She moves down l.) 

Bartley. Aren't you going to give me the seal of your 
approval ? 

Bessie. You talk as if I were a notary public. 

Bartley [comitig toward her, arms outstretched). Yes, 
you know what I mean, just a little one. 

Bessie. Well, perhaps a very small one 

(Bartley moves to kiss her, just as the press-room door 
jlies open and Schultz enters R.) 

Schui.tz. Once again, I ask off you haf I got to stop my 

press 

Bartley {picking up a book from his desk and hurling 



20 THE COUNTRY EDITOR 

// at ScHULTz). Yes, you print that Aunt Matilda stuff, 
if it's the only thing you print this week. 

(ScHULTZ closes the door just in time to avoid being hit by 
the book. Bessie has taken advantage of the opportunity 
to go up c.) 

Bessie {inockingly). Good-bye, Mr. Editor. See you 
Thursday night. 

(Baktley rushes to7vard her^ hut she exits and closes the 
door just as he readies it. Bartley turns and shakes 
his jist at the press-room, comes do7vn l., takes a picture 
out of his desk and kisses it ferve fitly?) 

(^Enter Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins, c. They are very timid 
and coif used. ) 

Mr. J. Is this here the editor ? 
Baktley. Yes, sir. What can I do for you? 
Mr. J. Why — er — that is to say, nothing. 
Mrs. J. Why, yes he can, too, honeychum. What did 
you come here for, dear? {Comes down c.) 

Mr. J. 1 came because you brought nie, darling. 

{Cof?ies down c.) 

Mrs. J. But why did I bring you, Jenkieboy? 

Mr. J. {gathering courage). Why, you see — er — course 
you wouldn't think it, but this here lady and me was re- 
cently united in holy matrimony.. 

Mrs. J. Married, in other words. 

Bartley. 1 congratulate you, I am sure — but what can 
I do for you ? 

Mrs. J. Let me tell him, Jenkieboy. We thought 
mebbe you'd put in a nice notice about us. You see we got 
married over at Hazel Falls and — and — well, we kind o' ran 
away from home, as you might say. Oil, it was terribly 
romantic, and now we're on our honeymoon, staying over 
at Cousin Maria Stebbins, and we haven't heard from the 
folks whether they will forgive us or not. 

Bartley. Maybe they will forgive you if you promise 
never to do it again. 

Mrs. J. Oh, I hope so, T hope so. You see Jenkieboy 
works ill his father's store, and how can we get along if he 
doesn't forgive us? 



THE COUNTRY EDITOR 21 

Bartley. Thai's so. 

Mrs. J. It was at the store I first met Jenkieboy. He 
was weighing out sugar, and he did it sort of different. 

Bartley (smi/i/i^). Love at first sight, eh? 

Mrs. J. it was dreadfully romantic, wasn't it, Jenkie- 
boy ? 

Mr. J. Just as you say, love. 

Bartley. And you want all that in the paper? 

Mr. J. Yes — yes, sir. 

Mrs. J. We thought it would be sort of romantic. 

Bartley. Well, you walk right through that door and 
you'll see the man who will put the story in the paper for 
you. 

Mrs. J. Story ? It isn't any story. It's true, every 
word of it. 

Bartley. Tell Mr. Schultz. He loves stories like that. 

(Si^s at desk, L. Mrs. J. leads her husband and they exeimt 
R. A moment later they come out r., hurriedly /followed 
by Schultz.) 

Schultz. No, nix, nein ! I vill not stop my paper to 
tell dot you vas chust married. Eferybody vould know dot 
anyways. Am 1 to gedt my paper out last week or next 
year ? (^He shoves them to the door, c. They are much 
disturbed.) Positifely, I vill nodt put nuddings in. T'ree 
times already have I got ready my make-ready. You 
shouldt haf got married sooner. Last veek, last year, den I 
got it in my paper. 

Mrs. J. Protect me, my love. Protect me. 

Mr. J. {shoving her up c, toward door). I am protect- 
ing you, ain't 1? Let's get out of here. 

(Schultz rushes at them. Mrs. J. screams. They scramble 
through the door, c. Bartley laughs.) 

Schultz. Next veek my last veek's paper is nodt oudt. 
Such doings ! 

{Exit R., grumbling.) 

Bartley. The course of true love never did run smooth. 
(Enter Holman, c, excitedly. Well, Jim, what's the ex- 
citement ? 

Holman {triiwiphantly). Excitement ! Say, Frank, I 



22 THE COUNTRY EDITOR 

told you SO. I've got a story now that you will want to kill, 
all rigiit. (^Comes doivn C.) 

l^AKTLEY {composedly^. What is it? 

HoLMAN. Why, the labor inspector found all kinds of 
things wrong down at Sawtelle's. The girls work longer 
tiian the law allows, the sanitary and safety conditions aren't 
what they should be, and he's been violating the minimum 
wage law right along. 

Baktley. Will the inspector write a complaint? 

(Bautley is much disturbed.') 

HoLMAN. Sure he will. The department is out to make 
a record. They'll have the old boy in court, all right. 
Hang it all. It's a big story. {Ruefully.) But I suppose 
we'll have to kill it. 

Bartley. What makes you think we are going to kill it ? 

HoLMAN. Think? 1 know. We've got to kill it. Man 
alive, you're stuck on the old man's daughter, aren't you? 
You know Joe Sawtelle, don't you, and his daughter, too, 
for that matter? If we print a line about this, there'll be no 
wedding bells for you. 

Bartley. Jim, the editor's personal interest must not 
interfere with the ''Free Lance" when it comes to a matter 
of news. 

HoLMAN. You're crazy. You'll lose Sawtelle's adver- 
tising, and 

Bautley {firtnly). Write your story. We'll print it. 



CURTAIN 



ACT II 

SCENE. — Same as Act /, the following morning. Bart- 
ley is at his desk writing. 

(HOLMAN enters J c, and comes down rapidly to Bartley's 
desk.') 

HoLMAN. That the Sawtelle story you have there ? 

Bartley. Yes. 

Holm AN. Oh, I say, Frank, forget what I said yester- 
day. Don't run that story. 1 know what this will mean to 
you, old boy. 

Bartley. What will it mean, Jim? 

(HoLMAN is R. c, i7i front of desk. ^ 

Holman. Why, if you print a line about the inspector's 
report, the ''Free Lance" will lose every dollar of adver- 
tising from Sawtelle. 

Bartley. I guess that's so. 

Holman. Of course. And he gives us about half of 
what we get. Just look at that. {Spreads out a 7iewspaper 
on the desk. ) A half page this week. Why, Frank, unless 
we can keep Sawtelle's account, there won't be any "Free 
Lance." 

Bartley. He needs us as much as we need him, Jim. 

Holman. Maybe he does, and maybe he doesn't. If 
you get the old man mad, he will get along without us, 
whether he needs us or not. He's as obstinate as Bill 
Higgins' mule. 

Bartley. The ''Free Lance" is the only paper in 
town. How's he going to advertise his bargains unless he 
uses the " Free Lance " ? 

Holman. You'll see. Anyway, business isn't every- 
thing. I know how things stand between you and Bessie. 
Do you suppose she'll marry the man that lambasts her 
father in his paper ? Why, she will freeze you cold. 

Bartley. I have no intention of lambasting Mr. Saw- 
telle, Jim. 

Holman. What do you call it, saying his store's not 
kept up decently and that he underpays his girls ? 

23 



24 THE COUNTRY EDITOR 

Hartley. Remember, Jim, it isn't I that is saying any- 
thing about his store. A public official is making a com- 
plaint. That's news. We've got to print it. 

HoLMAN. You take my advice, Frank. Kill that story 
and everything will be lovely. If anybody asks you, you 
didn't know anything about it. Blame it on me. Why, 
you can have your girl, and you bet Sawtelle will appreciate 
it. You'll get more advertising than ever. 

Baktley. To reward us for not printing the story, eh ? 

HoLMAN. Sure. I won't hold you to what you said 
yesterday. We'll just kill the whole thing and everything 
will be nuts and raisins. 

Bartley. The finish, eh ? 

HoLMAN. Not on your life, boy, just the beginning. 
Look, Frank, what a chance you've got. When you are the 
old man's son-in-law, it will be your own fault if you don't 
manage the store. 1 only wish I had the chance you've 
got. {Pauses a moment. Baktley does ?iot answer, as 
HoLMAN eoniijiues.) It's settled then, Frank? 1 kill the 
story ? 

Bartley (Jn a determi?ied tone). Yes, it's settled, Jim, 
but the story sticks. 

HoLMAN. Oh, come, Frank, be sensible. 

Bartley. I will. Look here, Jim, suppose it was some 
one else who might marry Bessie if this story was killed and 
this some one else came to me and urged me not to print it, 
what would I do ? 

Holman. That's not 

Bartley (firm/y). What would I do, Jim ? 

Holman. Why, I suppose you'd jmnt the story. 

Bartley. Suppose? You know mighty well I'd print 
the story. Very well. What I wouldn't do for somebody 
else, I can't do for myself. We'll print the facts, and we'll 
abide by the consequences. 

Holman. Even if you lose Bessie ? 

Bartley {qi/iei/y). Even if I lose Bessie. 

Holman. Oh, come on, Frank, don't be foolish. Put 
your conscience in cold storage. Soften the story, anyway. 

Bartley. Not a line. It's a tough situation, Jim, but 
I've got to do the square thing. 

Holman. You don't love Bessie much. 

Bartley. Don't say that, Jim. I love Bessie too much 
to sell myself for advertising, or even to win her love. 



THE COUNTRY EDITOR 2$ 

HOLMAN. Go on. Be a martyr, but don't say I didn't 
warn you. Here are the rest of the facts. (He lays some 
sheets before Bahtley.) There are no fire-escapes on the 
building, though four floors are occupied. The building- 
has no extinguisher system. In case of fire, anybody on 
the top floor would be caught like a rat in a trap. There 
are only half enough chairs, according to the law's require- 
ments. Moreover, on Saturdays, many of the girls work 
fourteen hours, when nine is the law's limit. The legal 
minimum wage is seven dollars a week. Mr. Sawtelle's 
minimum is four and a half. 

Bartley. Why didn't the inspector warn him and give 
him a chance to remedy conditions ? 

HoLMAN. Too much of that done already, he says. 
They ** remedy conditions" for a few weeks and then slip 
back into the same old ways. The department is out to stir 
things up, I tell you. The old man will be lucky if they 
don't fine him a thousand dollars. 

Bartley. I wonder if it would do any good if I asked 
Krauss for an extension. 

HoLMAN. Krauss ? 

Bartley. Yes, the head of the State Labor Bureau, you 
remember. He might put ofl" the prosecution if Sawtelle 
would agree to fix things up. 

HoLMAN. Sawtelle's obstinate as a mule. He won't 
accept any favors from them. 

Bartley. No — not the way he feels now. But he might 
be brought to reason. I'll see him myself. 

HoLMAN. Worth trying, I guess. 

Bartley {with decisiofi). I'll do it. Hand me a tele- 
graph blank. (Holman takes telegraph blank from his 
own desk and hands it to Bartley. He ivrites rapidly y 
then hands telegrafn to Holman.) There, Jim, get that off, 
will you? 

Holman. Sure. I hope it'll work. 

{Exit, c.) 

(Bartley goes o?t ivritin^ at his desk. After a momenty 
enter Mr. Bolivar, c.) 

Bolivar. Is this the editor ? 
Bartley. Yes, sir. 



26 THE COUNTRY EDITOR 

Bolivar. I've got a nice liltle proposition to offer you, 
Mr. Editor. 

Bartley. Bartley is the name. 

BoLiVAU {suavely). Oh, yes, Mr. Bartley, to be sure. 
A good old name ! 1 was instructed by a school-teacher of 
that name, a fine man and a learned scholar. Yes, sir. 
You recall him, sir, you recall him. 

Bartley {drily). Thank you. 

Bolivar {rubbing his hands). You are of the intellectual 
type, my dear sir. I am something of a phrenologist. In 
fact, 1 may well confess that 1 am an expert. 1 read human 
character at a glance. It is a great aid to me in my busi- 
ness. As I am speaking, I am reading you, the intellectual 
type, strong, robust. 

Bartley. Thank you. 

Bolivar. Clever, ambitious, large-minded, progressive. 
You will go far, young man, mark my words. You will be 
interested in what I offer. A small man wouldn't appre- 
ciate my proposition. No, sir, not for a moment. 

Bartley. If you are referring to mining stock, sir, I am 
afraid 1 can offer you no encouragement. 

Bolivar. Mining stock? Bless your heart, no. I am 
not of that ilk, I assure you. I represent the Metropolitan 
Rural Supplement, sir, the greatest invention of the age. 
{He takes a paper resembling a small magazine froin his 
pocket.) Here it is. Gaze upon its beauties. My dear 
fellow, the big city dailies all have their big magazme sup- 
plements. Our mission is to supi)ly something similar — 
only better — for the readers of country papers. Aren't the 
people of Pineville as good as New Yorkers? Of course 
they are. "J'hen let them have their magazine supplements 
with their papers. Here we have it. {He moistens his 
thumb on his tongue and turns the pages.) All the fashions, 
household recipes, how to feed a family of nine on six dol- 
lars a week, stories by 

Bartley. Hold on. Who wrote that stuff about feeding 
a family of nine on six dollars a week ? 

{Takes paper from Bolivar.) 

Bolivar {proudly). Junkly, one of our best staff men. 
We pay him five thousand a year. Stories by Smithkins, 
Lambert, Turnbull, and all the .other big ones, jokes, pic- 
tures, puzzles, rhymes for the little ones, a literary treasure- 



THE COUNTRY EDITOR 27 

house, my dear sir. Readers of the '' Free Lance " will 
revel in it. 

(During the latter part of Bolivar's discourse, Bartlev 
has beeii exa?nining the suppletneiit carefully.') 

Bartley {drily). And how much are we to expend for 
the privilege of giving "Free Lance" readers this wonder- 
ful production ? 

Bolivar. Ah, that's the point, sir, the very crux of our 
proposition, if 1 may put it so. The supplement is supplied 
you witliout money and without price. You pay the ex- 
press, nothing more. The advertisers take care of the rest. 
AVe live in an age of advertising, sir. Advertising is the 
greatest civilizing force known to mankind. As an ambas- 
sador for advertising, sir, 1 consider myself nothing less than 
a missionary, sir. 

Bartley. It pays better, though. 

Bolivar. You have a keen mind, young man. {He 
takes some important looking contracts and a fountain pen 
from his pocket.) How many shall we put you down for? 

Bartley. Not a copy. 

Bolivar. Why, why — my dear sir, I pray you, con- 
sider 

Bartley. Consider? I've considered enough. Look 
at your supplement that you want me to distribute to the 
good people of Pineville. {Points to paper.) Look at that 
advertisement of Elixir of Everlasting Youth, one of the 
worst fakes ever perpetrated and the solace of all the topers 
in the dry counties. Look at that advertisement of stock in 
peach orchards on the Hawaiian Islands. Look at that ad 
about writing a song and getting famous 

Bolivar. What's wrong with it ? 

Bartlev. Every fool who ever drummed a key will want 
to send them fifty dollars to publish his fool song. Will he 
get famous? Not on your life. Look at that moving pic- 
ture college ad. '* We guarantee to make you a successful 
photo play dramatist, earning $50 to $200 a week." You, 
mind you, anybody at all. All the poor counter jumpers at 
eight a week will send their dollars to learn how to have a 
snap ! And here we have a whisky ad ! No, sir, the "■ Free 
Lance " doesn't publish advertising of that kind, thank you. 

{Throivs paper on desk infrotit of Bolivar.) 



28 THE COUNTRY EDITOR 

Bolivar {sardonically). All right, young fellow, but let 
me tell you one thing before I go. You made a great big 
mistake in choosing your profession. {Picks up paper.) 

Bartley {curtly'). How so ? 

Bolivar. You'd ought to have been a preacher. Well, so 
long. I'll come and see the fellow who buys you out, when 
you go bankrupt. 

Bartley. You'll have a long wait. 

{Ecsii Bolivar, c, contemptuously. Bartley resumes his 
writing at his desk.) 

{Enter Joseph Sawtelle, c. He is very genial.) 

Sawtelle. Hard at work, my boy? That's right. 
Work hard when you're young and you'll have plenty when 
you're old. That's my way. 

(Bartley rises and goes c, to meet Sawtelle.) 

Bartley. Won't you have a chair, sir ? 

{Places chair, c.) 

Sawtelle. Thanks, I will rest a minute. {Sits.) Have 
you been by the store to-day ? Crowded, crowded to the 
doors. That ad did it. 1 always believe in the **big 
spread." When you want to say anything say it out loud. 
I'm coming back next week with twice the space. That's 
what 1 came over for. 1 want you to reserve the whole 
back page for me until forbid. That means prosperity for 
both of us. These bargain days do the trick. When you're 
out at noon, just take a look in. 

Bartley. I will. And thanks for the ad, too. It isn't 
often that a man brings a full page ad into a newspaper 
office. Usually we have to go after it, and then it's like 
pulling teeth. 

Sawtelle. Bessie says you are coming up Thursday 
night. We'll be glad to see you, glad to see you any time. 
I like a strong, upstanding, clean-cut fellow. 

Bartley. Thank you, sir. 

Sawtelle (rising ). 1 will send up the copy for that ad 
within a day or so. We'll want to see proof. 

Bartley (l. c). We'll get it to you, sir. I'll come 
over for the copy any time you say. 



THE COUNTRY EDITOR 29 

Sawtelle. To-morrow. By the way, Frank — I hope 
you don't mind my calling you Frank? 

Bartley. Not at all, sir. 

Sawtelle. Well, Frank, a deputy labor commissioner 
was in town yesterday and he made some very uncalled-for 
remarks. In fact, he was extremely disagreeable. I'd a lit- 
tle rather nothing appeared in the '' Free Lance " about the 
matter. The best way is to ignore such fellows, not con- 
descend to recognize them. 

Bartley. But, Mr. Sawtelle, they tell me he's making 
an official report. If so it's news. Isn't it true? 

Sawtelle. I don't think any one in Pineville cares two 
flaps of a pancake what any inspector says about Sawteile's 
store. 

Bartley. But, Mr. Sawtelle, he says that you have vio- 
lated the minimum wage law, that you pay some of the girls 
only four dollars and a half a week. 

Sawtelle {Jiotly). It's a lie. Not one of them gets less 
than four seventy-five. 

Bartley. But the law sets a minimum of seven dollars. 

Sawtelle {conciliatin^ly^. Look here, Frank, that law 
was intended for big cities where the girls have to pay board 
and buy their own clothes. Here at Pineville the girls just 
live at home. 

Bartley. It is a general state law, I think. 

Sawtelle. Anyway, what business is it of a lot of these 
cheap lawyers who go up to Belleville to make laws for the 
rest of us? Let some of them try to keep a store running 
and pay seven dollars a week to green girls that don't know 
putty. Why, how would I be able to have all these bargain 
sales and give the people stuff at cost, almost, if i had to pay 
seven dollars a week for clerks ? 

Bartley. Do you mean to say, Mr. Sawtelle, that you 
are able to make bargains because you underpay your 
clerks ? 

Sawtelle. Underpay? Who said underpay? Most 
of 'em aren't worth what they get. No, 1 can't say we 
make bargains out of salaries, anyway. The game is this, 
my boy. Cut tlie prices on a half a dozen things people 
know about and charge a good big profit on your other stuff. 
Anyway,' I'm not going to let them dictate to me. As for 
the *' Free Lance," it will please me a great deal not to see 
the matter mentioned. 



30 THE COUNTRY EDITOR 

Bartley. I am afraid I can't do that. 

Sawtelle (surprised). Why not? 

Hartley. It's news. I must print the report. I will be 
very glad to print your side, too. 

Sawtelle. But, my boy, don't you see? A lot of peo- 
ple won't understand. It will put me in a bad light, 'i'he 
girls will be dissatisfied. And, in a way, it will seem a sort 
of disgrace. 

Bartley. But, Mr. Sawtelle, it is news. I must print it. 

Sawtelle. Why, you wouldn't want to hurt Bessie, 
would you ? Have people pointing at her in the street ? 
It's a little thing for you to make such a fuss about. 

Bartley. Let me have your story to print, too. That's 
fair. I'll print the inspector's charges, and right alongside 
I'll print your answer. 

Sawtelle {scveiely'). I think it will be a great deal bet- 
ter not to mention the matter in any way. 

Bartley. 1 can't do that. 

Sawtelle. Yes, you can, Frank, and I didn't size you 
up as a man who would injure his friends. 

Bartley. Look here, Mr. Sawtelle, 1 wouldn't kill a 
story to please my best friend. 1 can't do it and be honest. 
Ought I to do it to please myself? 

Sawtelle. These ideals are very fine, my dear boy, 
very fine, but you are young, very young. You will come 
to recognize that you are up against a hard, cold world, and 
that you've got all you can do to keep going. Pay the girls 
seven dollars a week? Why, I'd be tickled to pay them 
twenty — if I could. I've got to meet business conditions as 
they are. 

Bartley. Are you going to give the girls seven dollars 
now ? 

Sawtelle. Not much, I'm not. The law is unconsti- 
tutional, anyway, it limits the right of contract. Why, 
the free right to contract is the most sacred of human liber- 
ties, Frank. 

Bartley. Do you want me to say that in the "Free 
Lance"? 

Sawtelle {his Jaws snapping). No, I don't. I've told 
you what 1 want, and I've trieii to be reasonable, too. I 
don't want a line of it in the '* Free Lance," not a line. 

Bartley. 1 can't do that. 

Sawtelle (angri/y). Then you can do the other thing. 



THE COUNTRY EDITOR 3 1 

If the "Free Lance" doesn't want Sawtelle and Company's 
frienclship, and our business, all right. But we don't stand 
any knocks from any one. 

Bartley. Can't you see how it is, Mr. Sawtelle? I've 
got to print the news. Let me print your story, too. 

Sawtelle. If you know what's best for you, young man, 
you won't print a line about it. 1 don't want my family 
disgraced in your paper. 

Bartley. Why didn't you think about that when you 
were violating the law? 

Sawtelle. It's a fool law, I tell you. (^Goes up c.) 

Barti,ey. Then why be ashamed of violating it? 

Sawtelle. Look here, I'm not going to listen to any 
boy telling me what to do. I've made a very small, simple 
request. If you don't want to favor me, well and good. 
That is your affair. 

Bartley. 1 can't do it. {Goes up l. c.) 

Sawtelle. That's final, is it? 

Bartley. I'm afraid it is, sir. 

Sawtelle. Very well. Good-morning, sir. (^He pauses 
at the door.') By the way, we won't need that page in the 
"Free Lance" next week. There will be no bargain sale 
at Sawtelle's. 

Bartley {quietly). Very well, sir. 

(Sawtelle j^/Vi- out, angrily. Bartley, down l., buries his 
head in his hands, in a momentary reaction. He takes 
Bessie's picture from his pocket a fid kisses it fervently.) 

{Enter Mrs. Pettigrew, c.) 

Mrs. p. I've got some news for you, Mr. Editor. 

Bartley {taking pad and pencil froin desk up l. ). You 
have, madame ? 

Mrs. p. Yes, and T ain't going to charge you a cent for 
it, either. I heard from a good, relial)le source that young 
Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins are having considerable difficulty 
already — I mean domestic difficulty. 

Bartley. Indeed ? 

Mrs. p. Yes, sir, 'n' it wouldn't be surprisin' if she 
sued him for divorce on the grounds o' cruelty — extreme 
cruelty. Last night he threw a plate at her, struck her right 
on the head, too. 



32 



THE COUNTRY EDITOR 



Hartley. You know this to be a fact ? 

Mrs. p. Of course I do. 

Bartley. She told you? Or were you an eye-wit- 
ness? 

Mrs. p. Well, no, but Vm morally sure. I heard the 
sound of the dish smashing and I seen Mrs. Jenkins cryin'. 
So I put two and two together and I guess that always 
makes four. She ought to get a divorce from that man. 
Any man who'd throw a dish at a woman 

Bartley, But, Mrs. Pettigrew, you haven't proven that 
yet. Jenkins always seemed to me a peaceable chap. 

Mrs. P. That's only a mask, hypocrisy. How I hate 
hypocrisy! He calls her "dear" and ** honey" in com- 
pany and then throws dishes at her when they're alone. 

Bartley. You think, then, that the ''Free Lance" 
would be justified in hinting at divorce proceedings? 

Mrs. p. Well, I whispered a word to Lawyer Buck, and 
he's going to ask Mrs. Jenkins if she's got any business with 
him. You can take my word for it. 

Bartley. Very well. We will print the story and quote 
you as our authority. 

Mrs. p. Goodness gracious, you mustn't do that ! 

Bartley. Why not? We must give the source of our 
information. 

Mrs. p. Don't you dare drag my name into it, whatever 
you do. 

Bartley. I am afraid I shall have to print the story 
with you as authority. 

Mrs. p. Don't you do any such thing, young man. 

Bartley. You came to us of your own accord. 

Mrs. p. Don't get me mixed up in it. 

Bartley. You mixed yourself up in it. 

Mrs. p. Anyway, perhaps, well — er — maybe it would 
be belter to wait for further developments. 

Bartley (^sternly). Better to wait until there's some 
truth in it, you mean. In future, I advise you not to 
carry tales you can't back up. Anyway, don't bring them 
here. 

Mrs, p. {atigrily). No one asked you for any advice, 
upstart ! (^She floimces out, c.) 

Bartley. Phew, what a pleasant morning ! 

(^Co?nes down c.) 



THE COUNTRY EDITOR 33 

(^E?iter ScHULTZ, r.) 

ScHULTZ. Excuse me, Mister Bartley, I got somedings 
I vish to say." (^He pauses and seems embarrassed.^ 

Bartley. Out with it, SchuUzy. You aren't going to 
press now, are you ? 

ScHULTz. No, but (^Comes down L. c.) 

Bartley. I've got a big story 

ScHULTZ. Dot's him. 

Bartley. What are you talking about? 

ScHULTZ. Dot big story. Don't you write him. My 
age is yours a couple of times. Take my advice, say nud- 
dings. 

Bartley {amused). Why not? 

ScHULTZ. A wise tongue in a still head, ain't it? You 
never got into troubles ven you say nuddings. Take my 
vife 

Bartley {lau^hins^). I positively refuse. 

ScHULTZ. You can haf her fur vot she's cost me. But 
anyways, d' odder night she called me a fool with a few 
words ahead of der fool and let me tell you, dot started 
somedings. And ferwhy? She didn't keep still. If she 
hadn't said nuddings, 1 vould haf smoked my pipe and 
efery thing vould be lofely, and I vould not now haf a sore 
head (//<? feels it ruefully)^ and my vife she vould not haf 
a sore thumb. 

Baktley. Sometimes you have to speak, though. 

ScHULTZ. 1 vould nefer say nuddings against my cus- 
tomers. Take Maloney up the street. 1 buy my groceries 
off of him. Is it any business of his if 1 beat my vife or she 
beiUs me? 

Bartley. Why, no, but 

ScHULTZ. If lie knows it, he keeps still aboudt it, unless 
I go buy my stuff over to Morgan's. 

Bartley. But, Mr. Schultz, a newspaper is different. 

ScHULTZ. Nuddings is different, positifely nix. It's all 
business. Never knock a customer. Dake my advice. I 
am your age a couple of times over. 

Bartley. I'm much obliged, Mr. Schultz, but I'm 
afraid I'll have to decide this question for myself. 

Schultz. Dot's right. Decide him for yourself, but do 
it the vay I toldt you. 

Bartley {smiling). I'm afraid not 



34 



THE COUNTRY EDITOR 



ScHULTZ. You think hiin over and remember, nefer 
knock a customer. 

(Exit, R.) 

(^Enter Bessie, c.) 

Bessie {hurrying down to Bartley, anxiously). Why, 
Frank, what is the matter ? 1 just met father in the street, 
and he is so angry with you. He was ahiiost beside himself. 

Bartley. Come here, Bessie. Sit down and let me tell 
you about it, {He sits at his desk, L., she on the other 
chair, r. C, in front of desk.) It's all about what we were 
discussing yesterday. 1 am trying to run the *• Free Lance " 
honestly, and publish the news without fear or favor. 

Bessie. But, Frank, father said you were trying to dis- 
grace us all, and he asked me never to speak to you again. 

Bartley. Listen, Bessie, he has asked me to suppress a 
story — a very important story — for two reasons, first because 
he is a big advertiser, and secondly because he says it will 
hurt you. 

Bessie. But, Frank, you wouldn't do anything to hurt 
me, to disgrace me, would you ? 

Bartley. You know I wouldn't, Bessie. I haven't 
done anything, have 1 .<* All I am going to do is to print 
what happened. Your father seems to think that the dis- 
grace lies not in doing wrong, but in people's knowing about it. 

Bessie {proudly). I don't think my father would do 
anything wrong, 

Bartley. Then why is he afraid of having this story 
printed ? 

Bessie. He has been accused unjustly. You can't make 
me believe that he oppresses those girls who work for him. 
1 just won't believe it, 

Bartley. Bessie, listen. I don't accuse your father of 
anything. All 1 insist upon doing is printing the fact that 
a state official has brought charges regarding the conduct of 
the store. Then 1 offered to print your father's reply. The 
** Free Lance " would take no sides in the matter. 

Bessie, But people will talk about us. If you could only 
realize how 1 hate that, Frank. 1 think you might drop the 
whole thing. You would, too, if you loved me. 

Bartley. Bessie, don't say that. Listen, the girls down 
in those big cities {swinging his arm toward the south) were 



THE COUNTRY EDITOR nr 

being made to work for starvation wages, three and four dol- 
lars a week in those big stores and factories. Little children 
were employed, too, because they were cheap. Why was it 
permitted? 

Bessie. Yes, why ? 

Bartley. To uphold liberty of contract. Yes, the lib- 
erty of contract to starve. Men and women began to agi- 
tate and after many years, out of it all, we have our new law 
that compels a fair wage, that prohibits child labor and says 
that women must not work more than fifty hours a week. 

Bessie. That was only intended for the big cities. 
Father said so. 

Bartley. Men are trying to evade the law. They want 
it declared unconstitutional, 'i'he state labor department is 
only* trying to enforce the law. Now, when a complaint is 
made against Sawtelle's, 1 mustn't say a word about it. 
Bessie, would 1 be a man if 1 did this thing because of my 
personal interest ? 

Bessie. But think, Frank, just think of getting us talked 
about. If you love me as you say you do, you would pre- 
fer anything to that. 

Bartley. You don't understand. 

Bessie. I'm afraid 1 do. 1 understand only too well. 
You are more interested in this law than you are in me. 

(Ibises.) 

Bartley (rising). Don't be unjust, Bessie. 

Bessie. Unjust? It is you that are unjust. Unjust, 
unreasonable, obstinate 

Bartley. Go on, go on. I can stand it, but remember, 
Bessie, I am getting all this because I am trying to do what 
is right. 

Bessie. Let's not quarrel about it, Frank. Come, say 
you won't print it and I'll talk to father, and maybe he will 
give the girls seven dollars a week and 

Bartlky. I can't do it, Bessie. 

Bessie. You can, too, but you don't want to, Frank. 
Your love must mean a great deal to you when you won't 
do that much for me. Very well. Have it your own way. 
But you ci^n't expect to marry a girl whose fatiier is 
humiliated in your paper. Good-bye. 

Bartley {very seriously^. Good-bye. 



36 THE COUNTRY EDITOR 

(Bessie pauses at the door as though expecting that he will 
call her back. Bartley sorrowfully follows to the door 
and gazes at her retreating figure down the street. He 
lingers until she has disappeared, then returns to his chair, 
kisses her picture fervently, buries his face in his hands 
momentarily, recovers himself, grasps paper and pencil 
and with a determined air writes feverishly.') 



CURTAIN 



ACT III 

SCENE. — Private office of the Saivtelle store, thefollow- 
i)ig inoniiug. S A wtelle is seated at his desk, working over 
some papers arid tetters. His manner betrays his nervous- 
ness and irritatio?i. 

{Enter Oliver Buck, c. He coughs respectfully two or 
three ti?nes to attract Savvtelle's attention.) 

Buck. I got your message, sir. 

Sawtelle (testily). Don't 1 know it ? Wasn't I on this 
end of the wire when you got it ? 

Buck. Yes, sir. 

Sawtelle. Don't come prating about "I got your mes- 
sage." Frankly, you lawyers frequently make me tired. 

Buck. I am sorry, sir. Possibly my visit is inoppor- 
tune. You are busy. I will come later. 

(^He iurfis as though to withdraw.) 

Sawtelle {roaring). Stay where you are. What do 
you think I called you up for if I wanted to see you next 
week? Sit down. (Buck /////f up a chair, meantime keep- 
ing his distance as though afraid of Sawtelle.) This pop- 
injay, Bartley, is giving me a lot of trouble, Buck. 

Buck {whistling softly). What's he up to? 

Sawtelle. He's printing a lot of stuff about me. 

Buck. 1 didn't see anything in the " Free Lance " about 
you except your ad. 

Sawtelle. It isn't in yet. That's what I want you for. 
An ounce of prevention is what I'm after. We've simply 
got to stop him, that's all. 

Buck. What's it all about, anyway? 

Sawtelle. One of these Paul Prys that gets an easy liv- 
ing out of the State Labor Bureau came around sticking his 
nose into other people's business. 

Buck. Stuck it into your store, eh ? 

Sawtelle. You're right. A pretty pass when a man 
can't run his own business the way he wants to. Anyway, 
this fellow's going to make a complaint against Sawtelle and 

37 



38 THE COUNTRY EDITOR 

Company. He says our safely and sanitary arrangements 
don't come up to the mark. Also, he says we've got to pay 
all these girls seven dollars a week. This upstart Bartley 
got hold of the story and he says he's going to print it. 

(Buck whistles softly?) 

Buck. I thought Bartley was sweet on your girl. 

Sawtelle. So he is, but he says it's his duty to print 
that story no matter what happens. 

Buck. Did you — er — er — suggest to him that S. and 
Company might not see their way clear to continue adver- 
tising in the ** Free Lance " ? 

Sawtelle. 1 didn't suggest anything. I told him 
mighty plain that he'd never get another dollar out of us. 

(Buck whistles softly.') 

Buck. And — er — er — you say this made no impression ? 

Sawtelle. Not a dent. That boy doesn't know what 
he's up against. This is business, and when 1 make up my 
mind on anything I usually get it. 

Buck. Just so, just so; and — er — er — you wish me to 
help you get it ? 

Sawtelle. I want you to make that young man under- 
stand that if he prints anything libelous I'll sue him. Tell 
him we'll sue him anyway. Tell him we'll get an injunc- 
tion. Tell him anything 

Buck. Leave it to me. I think I can make the young 
man see the light. If he does so, 1 presume you might en- 
large your advertising appropriation a bit, eh? 

Sawtei,le. Use your discretion. (Buck picks up his 
hat and prepares to withdraw.) And remember, Buck, I 
want quick action, and no more of this *'l got your mes- 
sage " nonsense. 

Buck. Yes, sir. Leave it to me. 

{Exit Buck, c. Sawtelle turfis once more to his letters 
and papers but his manner shows that he is 7iervoiis and 
preoccupied. He fingers a letter and throws it impa- 
tiently on the desk, t/ien picks up another, only to handle 
it in a like manner. This co7iti7iues for a moment, until 
Bessie enters, c.) 

Sawtelle. Hello, Bessie. Has that young man of yours 
experienced a change of heart yet ? 



THE COUNTRY EDITOR 39 

Bessie. Father, you know I haven't seen him since yes- 
terday. All he would say then was that he must do his 
duty. 

Sawtelle. I'm glad you're through with him for good 
and all. A fine kind of friend he is ! Ready to disgrace 
the family of the girl he loves just to satisfy some foolish 
notion. 

Bessie. But, father, there's one thing I hardly under- 
stand 

Sawtelle (smiling in spite of himself ) . Only one thing ? 

Bessie. Only one I'm thinking about now. You haven't 
said that Frank was going to print anything that wasn't true. 
I can't see why that will disgrace us, because I know you 
wouldn't do anything that isn't right. 

Sawtelle {patiently). Listen, Bessie. {She sits l. c, 
by his desk.) 1 may be doing what I think is right, but 
other people wouldn't understand. You see, the legislature 
passed this law intending to remedy conditions in the big 
cities. It wasn't meant for places like Pineville at all. 

Bessie. It wasn't? 

Sawtelle. No, indeed. I'd just like to show you some 
of the big stores in the city. You'd see how different our 
store is. Why, we are good to our clerks. We treat them 
fine. 

Bessie {enthusiastically). I'm sure you do. 

Sawtelle. This inspector has got to do something to 
keep his job. If he didn't enter a complaint, they'd say he 
wasn't doing anything, see? 

Bessie {doubtfully). Yes, I see. 

Sawtelle. He just happened to swoop down on us. 
Going to make an example of us, he says. I'll show him 
what he's up against. Buck says the law's unconstitutional, 
and I'm not going to stand for other people running my 
business. 

Bessie. But, dad, you said 

Sawtelle. Don't talk as though you were sticking up 
for Frank. If you do, I'll get mad. 

Bessie. I'm not sticking up for anybody. But you said 
this law was all right for the big cities. 

Sawtelle. Sure, they need it down there. 

Bessie. If you had the law declared unconstitutional, 
the girls in the stores in the big cities would suffer, wouldn't 
they? 



40 THE COUNTRY EDITOR 

Sawtelle. I can't help that. 

Bessie. Yes, you can, dad. Don't let us be the means 
of those girls getting less wages. 

Sawtelle. If 1 don't get it declared unconstitutional, 
they can make me live up to it. They can fine me a thou- 
sand dollars or even put me in jail. 

Bessie {shuddering). Oh, they wouldn't do that ! 

Sawtelle. Wouldn't they ? I'm not so sure about 
that. 

Bessie. Promise me, dad, that you won't do anything 
to make things worse for the girls in the city. 

Sawtelle. If 1 don't I'll have to obey the law. You 
don't understand, Bessie. We business men have to do a 
lot of things we don't like to. I'd like to pay my clerks a 
hundred dollars a week — if I could. I've got to buy labor 
as cheap as my competitor or 1 can't sell as cheap. 

Bessie. Why, father, there isn't another store like ours 
in Pineville. 

Sawtelle. People can go over to Glenhaven, can't 
they ? It seems to me, Bessie, that you ought to try to see 
things the way I do. lake my word for it. 

(Bessie rises, and goes r.) 

Bessie. I've got to think for myself, father, but you 
needn't be afraid that I won't stick up for you. 1 don't 
think Frank ought to print that story, and 1 shall never for- 
give him if he does, but 

Sawtelle. Then there is a *' but " ? 

{A kfiock is heard at the door. Buck enters. Seeing Bessie, 
he whistles softly. He then coughs apologetically.') 

Buck. Shall I come later ? 

Sawtelle {irritably). No, sit down. Bessie knows all 
about this affair. What did he say? 

(Buck sits, l. c. ) 

Buck. He positively refused to be interviewed ; listened 
to me, said ''Thank you," and turned to his writing. 

Sawtelle. Did he give you any assurance that the 
story would not appear ? 

Buck. He didn't give me any assurance about anything. 
He let me do the talking. 



THE COUNTRY EDITOR 4! 

Sawtelle. And you said, "Leave it to me." 

Buck. My private opinion is that as the case now stands, 
the story will appear. 

Sawtelle (^rising angrily). I tell you, Buck, that story 
must not appear. 1 don't care what you do. Do anything. 
I've built up a good name for myself and my family in this 
town and 1 simply won't stand being roasted in a news- 
paper. Did you tell him we'd enjoin him? 

Buck {j-isijig). Yes. 

Sawtelle {impatiently^. What did he say? 

Buck. He said he und-^rstood the courts were open. 

Sawtelle. The impudent upstart ! I'll make Judge 
Swart stop that paper. 

Buck. He can't stop it. 

Sawtelle. Why can't he stop it? 

Buck. Not as long as the story is true. Bartley says he 
will prmt only the inspector's report. You can't stop that. 

Sawtelle. I don't care what you do. Buy his paper. 
Do anything, but you must stop that story. 

Buck. Will you comply with the law ? 

Sawtelle {roaring). No, sir. I'll be 

Bessie. Father ! 

Sawtelle. switched if I wilL I'm obstinate, I 

am. I wouldn't 

Buck. It would be cheaper than buying his paper. 

Sawtelle. 1 won't give in to him, nor to that inspector, 
either. Give him ten thousand dollars for his paper, if you 
have to. It isn't worth five. 

Buck. Leave it to me. 

Sawtelle. Don't come back saying you did all the 
talking, either. 

Buck. That's all right. Just leave it to me. 

{Exit, c.) 

Sawtelle {coming do7vn c). When he came in you 
were saying there was a '* but." 

Bessie (down r.). 1 don't want you to think I am 
standing up for Frank. 

Sawtelle. You are, though. 

Bessie {stamping her foot). I am not. Just the same, 
it seems to me he is pretty brave to do what he thinks is 
right when he knows it may ruin his paper and — and 



42 THE COUNTRY EDITOR 

Sawtelle. And lose you, you mean. Call it brave if 
you want to. 

Bessie. Yes, father, brave and obstinate. 

Sawtelle (^perking up his ears). Obstinate, eh ? Any- 
way, we are through with him forever. 

Bessie (very seriously). Yes, dad, we are through with 
him forever. 

(^A knock is heard at the door, c. Bessie turns and admits 
Emily Faxon. She is timid and hesitating.) 

Emily. Excuse me, sir. 1 didn't know you were busy. 

Sawtelle. Bessie will excuse me a moment. What is 
it? {Goes up c.) 

Emily. I wanted to ask you if I could get off to-day, 
sir. 

Sawtelle. I guess so. We don't seem to be over- 
burdened with trade. Is it something important ? 

Emily. Why, yes, yes, sir. That is, I think it is very 
important. My father is very ill, sir. 

Bessie {conceriiedly). Your father ill ? 

Emily. Yes, ma'am. He is very ill. 

Sawtelle. Why, of course we'll excuse you, Emily. 
Run along and see what you can do at home. 

Emily. 1 don't know whether 1 can be back to-morrow, 
sir. 

Sawtelle (smiling). That's all right, Emily. Run 
along. We'll manage somehow. 

Bessie. Has your father been sick long, my dear? 

Emily. About three months. The doctor (her voice 
breaks) says he isn't going to get better. 

Bessie. You poor girl ! And how do you get along ? 

(Emily stares at her open-eyed.) 

Emily. Not very well, ma'am. 

Bessie. 1 mean, who earns the money to keep you 
going? 

Emily. I do. 

Bessie. ) ,. ^ 

Sawtelle. [ Y°"' 

Emily. Yes, sir; yes, ma'am. Since dad took sick 
they've had to kind o' depend upon me. We had a little 
saved up, though. Thank you, sir. I must be going. I'll 



THE COUNTRY EDITOR 43 

be back, Mr. Sawtelle, just as soon as I can. Thank you, 
sir, and please excuse me interrupting. 

(She exits timidly^ c.) 

Bessie. Father, how much do you pay that girl ? 

Sawtelle. She's been here only six months. She gets 
four seventy-five, I suppose. (Comes down c.) 

Bessie. Four seventy-five ! And they've had to ''kind 
o' depend upon" her. Why, dad dear, 1 thought you said 
that these things affect only the girls in the big cities. 

Sawtelle {uiico7nfortably). This is an extreme case, 
Bessie. I contribute regularly to the poor fund to take care 
of such unfortunates. 

Bessie. Dad, dear, I don't want you to be angry. I 
know you always do what you think is right 

(^A knock is heardy but Bessie and Sawtelle do not 
heed it.) 

Sawtelle (rising angrily). What I think is right, 
Bessie? What do you mean by such nonsense? (Buck 
enters just i?i time to hear Sawt lle's iast words. He 
whistles softly and theft coughs respectfully. Sawtelle, 
impatiently,) You back? Well, what did he say? 

Buck. Said he'd sell. 

Sawtelle (mollified). That's better. How much does 
he want for the place ? 

Buck. Sixty-five hundred. 

Sawtelle. It isn't worth it, but Til pay it to stop that 
story. When will he give possession? 

Buck. Next Thursday. 

Sawtelle. Thursday? Look here. Buck, the "Free 
Lance " comes out on Wednesday. 

Buck. I know that. 

Sawtelle. And the story will be in ! Why, after 
next Wednesday I wouldn't give ten cents for the whole 
thing. (Goes l.) 

Buck. I couldn't budge him. He says that neither love 
nor money can buy the ** Free Lance " until next Thursday. 
I started raising the price, but he only said : " Excuse me, 
Mr. Buck, this is not an auction." Then he bowed me 
out. 

Sawtelle. And you said, *' Leave it to me " ! I'll get 



44 THE COUNTRY EDITOR 

that upstart down here and I'll have it out with him. (^He 
turns to the telephone.') Give me number sixteen. . . . 
Hello, "Free Lance." That you, Bartley? This is Saw- 
telle. Can you come to the office right away? . 
No, I can't. . . . You come over here. . . . (^He 
puts down receiver.') He's coming. Very lamb-like, too. 
{He turns ferociously on Buck.) You leave it to me. 
Buck {whistling softly). I'm agreeable. Good-morning. 

{Exit, c.) 

Bessie. Dad, I want you to promise me that you won't 
try to have that law declared unconstitutional. Why, dad, 
it would be better for us to go out of business than to do so 
much harm to so many people. 

Sawtelle {coming down c). Then I'll have to pay 
every girl in the place seven dollars. 

Bessie. You could pay the difference for a long time 
out of the money you were going to pay for the ''Free 
Lance. ' ' 

Sawtelle. That isn't the idea. I don't want other 
people running my business. 

Bessie. You want to run Frank's business. 

Sawtelle. That's different. Look here, Bessie, don't 
you stand up for Frank. You'll make me mad. 

Bessie. Leave Frank out of it, dad. I don't think he 
ought to publish that story, but neither do I think we ought 
to refuse to live up to the law — not after I saw Emily. I'm 
going up to her house now to see if I can do anything. 
Besides, I mustn't be here when Frank comes. {She goes 
to Sawtelle affectionately.) Remember, dad, we're pals, 
no matter what happens. 

{She kisses him affectio?iately and exit, c. Sawtelle turns 
to his desk. He is ?iot so iinpatient as he ivas, but 7tiore 
thoughtful. After a moment Bartlev enters, c.) 

Bartley. You wished to see me ? 

Sawtelle. Didn't 1 say so over the telephone? Look 
here, young man, are you going to stop that nonsensical 
story, or aren't you ? 

Bartley. I've tried to explain. You surely don't think 
I enjoy printing that story ? 

Sawtelle {conciliatingly). Don't do it, then. Nobody 
will know. Take the easy path, my boy. {Sits at desk.) 



THE COUNTRY EDITOR 45 

Hartley. I can't — I can't do it. I said I'd be honest, 
and 1 can't stop just because the first test hurts me. 

Sawtelle. Have you planned how you will get along 
without Sawtelle and Company? 

Bartley. Maybe 1 can't. I can only try. Anyway, I'll 
have a clear conscience. 

Sawtelle. That won't pay your bills, my boy. I like 
to see a man square, but his first duty is to his friends. 

Bartley. To shield tiiem when they break the law ? 
Won't you try to see my side of this, Mr. Sawtelle? 

Sawtelle. You haven't got any side. You might just 
as well say nothing about this matter. 

Bartlev. Will you comply with the law? 

Sawtelle. I tell you that law is unconstitutional. It 
interferes with the right of contract, one of the most sacred 
rights we have. 

Bartley. Shall I print your views along that line, sir? 

Sawtelle. No, sir. 1 don't want you to print anything 
about it — not a word. People will put a wrong construc- 
tion on it. Come now, Frank, be sensible. Why should 
you want to disgrace us? 

Bartley. I don't want to, sir. I can't see why you are 
afraid of my printing what you have done, if you feel justi- 
fied. Let me print your own statement, too. 

Sawtelle. Not a line. If you print a word about it, 
Sawtelle and Company are through with the **Free Lance" 
forever. 

Bartley. I'm sorry, sir. 

Sawtelle [rising and going to Bartley). Look here, 
Frank, I'm obstinate. You can't buck me. 

Baktley. I don't want to buck you, sir. 

Sawtelle. I think you are obstinate, too. 

Bartley. Why don't you agree to conform to the law? 
If 1 could print that, the story wouldn't sound so bad. 

Sawtelle. I don't approve of any such law. I think a 
man ought to be allowed to run his own business. 

Bartley. We can gain nothing by discussing the mat- 
ter, sir. You say you are obstinate. 1 guess I am, too. 

{Exit, c.) 

{A knock is heard. Enter Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins.) 

Sawtelle {brusquely). Yo,u want to see me personally ? 



46 THE COUNTRY EDITOR 

Mk. J. {up c). Why, yes — yes, sir 



Sawtelle {up L.). Don't stauiiner, young man, out 
with it. What can 1 do for you? 

Mks. J. Why, you see, sir, we were married quite re- 
cently. 

Sawtelle. Very recently, I should say. 

Mk. J. Yes, sir. 

Sawtelle. 1 presume that you are intending to purchase 
a little outfit. Is that the idea? 

Mks. J. Yes, sir. 

Sawtelle. I'll have Mr. Sidkins show you. We can 
fit you out all right — 

Mrs. J. But that ain't all we want. 

Sawtelle. No ? 

Mks. J. No ; you see, as you might say, we sort o' ran 
away from home, and we haven't heard from the folks 
whether they'll forgive us or not 

Sawtelle (brusquely). How can I do anything for you ? 

{Comes dowu l.) 

Mks. J. {following him). Well, you see, we thought, 
Jenkieboy and 1 did, that maybe you'd give him a job in 
your grocery department — he's had a lot of experience — and 
then we'd buy our things from you and you could take it 
out of his salary. 

(Mk. J. comes down r.) 

Mr. J. There ain't two men in the state better'n me 
when it comes to weighing out sugar. 

Sawtelle. You'll have to come in later. I'm so busy 
I don't know whether I'm afoot or on horseback. 

{A knock is heard. Enter Dawson, c.) 

Dawson. 'Scuse me, I didn't know you were busy. 

(Mrs. J. turris and confronts Dawson tvitii a cry of recog- 
nition.) 

Mrs. J. Why, father, what are you doing here? 

Dawson (gruf/ly). It'd be more like it if I was to ask 
you what you're doing here. {Comes doivn c.) 

Mrs, J. {very dignified). Father, let me introduce my 
husband, Mr. Jenkins. 



THE COUNTRY EDITOR 47 

Dawson. Aw, cut that, Grace; I've known Sid Jenkins 
since he was a polliwog. 

Mrs. J. Oh, you will forgive us, won't you, papa? 

Dawson. What can't be cured must be endured, I ex- 
pect. As your father said {turning to Mr. J.) the least said 
soonest mended. 

Mr. J. Thank you, sir; then you think that father 

Dawson, Sure ; take the first train back and sneak in 
the back way, and start selling soap just as if nothing hap- 
pened. 

Mrs. J. It has been dreadfully romantic, papa. 

Dawson. Scatter along, now. I've got business with 
Mr. Savvtelle here. You won't think it's so blameil roman- 
tic when you're scrubbing the floor and washing dishes 

Mrs. J. Come on, Jenkieboy. 

Dawson. There's a train in just one hour. I'll meet 
you at the depot. 

(^Exeunt Mr. ^//^ Mrs. J., c, very loving aiid happy.') 

Sawtelle {angrily, to Dawson). What are you after 
now ? Spying around trying to run a man's business for 
him, eh ? 

Dawson. No, sir, I'm not. I was sent here by the de- 
partment. 

Sawtelle (down l.). I wish you and your department 
were in the middle of tlie creek. 

Dawson {drily'). Sorry we can't accommodate you. 
I've been talking on the 'phone to the chief. He instructed 
me to say that you are to be given an opportunity to com- 
ply with the law. If you meet its provisions within ten 
days, I am instructed that no complaint will be made. 

Sawtelle. Somebody interceding for me, eh ? 

Dawson. They don't take me into their confidence. 
It's all the same to me. Mebbe your state senator got busy 
with the department. It's up to you. Do as you like. 
I'd just as soon make a complaint, just as soon not. 

Sawtelle. The law's unconstitutional. 

Dawson. Mebbe. I wouldn't want to risk sitting be- 
hind the bars on whether it is or not. It's up to you. I 
get my pay envelope either way. 

Sawtelle. Give me ten minutes and I'll give you your 
answer. 



48 THE COUNTRY EDITOR 

Dawson. Just as you say. Don't let me influ'nce you. 
It's all the same to me either way. 

(^Exit, c) 

(Sawtelle goes to his desk in deep thought, marked by an 
impatient expression. After a moment, Bessie en- 
ters, c.) 

Bessie. Oh, dad, I've just been talking to Emily, and I 
must go riglit back. They need so many things. I want 
you to promise me, dad, that you will pay all the girls the 
minimum wage. 1 don't want all the fine things we've got, 
if we have to cheat those girls to get them. 

Sawtelle. Cheat? Bessie, that doesn't sound well. 

Bessie. 1 know, dad. 1 don't mean that you'd do any- 
thing purposely you thought was wrong, but — but — any- 
way, please do that much for me. 

Sawtelle. Bessie, did you see a big, burly fellow wait- 
ing outside ? 

Bessie. Why, yes. Who is he? 

Sawtelle. He's that inspector from the labor bureau. 
He says if we comply with the law the department won't 
lodge the complaint. 

Bessie {clapping her hands'). Good ! Why, of course 
we'll do it. We don't need any old department to tell us 
what's right, anyway. And you won't be bothered going to 
court or anything. 

Sawtelle. 1 haven't decided what answer to give him. 

Bessie. Haven't decided ? Dad ! After hearing about 
Emily ! I'm almost ashamed of you. 

Sawtelle. A man ought to run his own business. 

Bessie. So you will, dad, so you will. Come, don't be 
obstinate. 

Sawtelle. Obstinacy is a good trait. 

Bessie. Sometimes, 

Sawtelle. I don't like the idea of getting up in court. 

Bessie. Listen, dad, do you like the idea of Emily? 

Sawtelle. No, I don't. If I had known about her, I 
wouldn't have allowed it. 

Bessie. Dad, you don't know how many Emilys you 
have working for you. 

Sawtellf. I hate to give in to those fellows. 



THE COUNTRY EDITOR 49 

Bessie. You won't let that prevent your doing what's 
right. 

Sawtelle. Whatever I do, I do on your account, not 
on theirs. (^He throws open the door.) Dawson ! (Daw- 
son enters indifferently.) My partner and I have talked 
this matter over 

Dawson {iminterestedly). Yes? 

Sawtelle. And we've decided to pay the minimum 
wage and make the other changes you mention. 

Dawson. Uh-huh. 

Sawtelle. Not because you say so, or because a fool 
unconstitutional law says so, but because — well, because we 
do as we please around here, that's why. 

Dawson. Just as you say. I'm not particular. Cuts 
me out of a trip to Belleville, though. 'N' see that you do 
it, b'cause I'll drop in when you ain't looking. R'member, 
I come like a thief in the night. Well, so long. 

(Sawtelle bozos him out, c. At the door Sawtelle sees 
Bartlev a fid pulls him inside.) 

Sawtelle. What did you come back for ? 

(^Comes down r.) 

Bartley. To get the news, sir. {Comes down R. c.) 

Sawtelle. You've got too much news already. 

Bessie {down r.). Father, dear, Frank is right. Tell 
him what you have done. 

Sawtelle. I won't tell him a thing. 

Bessie. Then I will. We have agreed to conform to the 
law in every particular, and Mr. Dawson has agreed not to 
make a complaint. 

Bartley. Good ! I can't tell you how glad I am. Ex- 
cuse me a moment. {He goes to door, c, and calls.) Jim ! 
Come in here. 

{Enter Holman «//^/ Schultz, c.) 

HOLMAN {taking pencil and paper from pocket). What's 
the news, Frank? 

Bartley. The best news the " Free Lance " ever 
printed. Dawson will hold up his report for ten days. 

Holman {writing'' ). Fine. So your telegram worked, 
hey? 



^O THE COUNTRY EDITOR 

Bartley. Never mind that. The real news is that Saw- 
telle will pay his girls a minimum of seven dollars, and make 
a lot of improvements. Get the facts from the general man- 
ager later. Make a big feature of it. 

HoLMAN. Hurray! {To Sawtelle.) This'U be the 
best ad you ever had, sir, and it won't cost you a cent. 

Bartley. And kill that other story. Don't let it get 
out. 

ScHULTZ. Mein gracious — after I got him all set up in 
long primer, and 

HoLMAN. Come along, Schultzy. You know you're 
tickled to death. 

ScHULTZ. Such doings ! Ach, such doings ! 

{^Exit Holm AN atid Schultz, c.) 

Bessie. So we aren't so horrid, after all, and you won't 
have to print any head-hnes about us. 

Bartley. All there will be to print will be about the 
big improvements in Sawtelle's store. Mr. Sawtelle, this is 
the biggest thing you have ever done. 

Sawtelle {shortly). Thank her, not me. 

Bartley. I'll thank you both. Good-bye. 

Bessie. Good-bye, Frank. We'll see you up at the 
house to-night, won't we? You have an engagement, re- 
member. 

Bartley {surprised ajid pleased ). May I? Will I be 
welcome ? 

Bessie. Surely you will. Why not? 

Bautley. i didn't know. 1 thought 

Sawtelle. You thought maybe 1 wouldn't let you, eh? 
Well, Bessie runs her own affairs. Another thing, young 
man, now that this is all over, I like you better than ever. 
You're obstinate — so'm I. 1 presume we'll have a lot of 
trouble, one time and another, you and I, but I like you. I 
wouldn't give two figs for a fellow that wasn't obstinate. 

(Sawtelle turns toward his desk. Bartley puts his arm 
arojwd Bessie and moves to kiss her as the curtain 
drops.) 



curtain 



Unusually Good Entertainments 

Read One or More of These Before Deciding on 
Your Next Program 

GRADUATION DAY AT WOOD HILL SCHOOL. 

An Entertainment in Two Acts, by Ward Macauley. For six 
males and four females, with several minor parts. Time of 
playing, two hours. Modern costumes. Simple interior scenes; 
may be presented in a hall without scenery. The unusual c>jm- 
bination of a real "entertainment," including music, recitations, 
etc., with an interesting love story. The graduation exercises 
include short speeches, recitations, songs, funny interruptions, 
and a comical speech by a country school trustee. Price, 15 
cents. 

EXAMINATION DAY AT 'WOOD HILL SCHOOL. 

An Entertainment in One Act, by Ward Macauley. Eight male 
and six female characters, with minor parts. Plays one hour. 
Scene, an easy interior, or may be given without scenery. Cos- 
tumes, modern. Miss Marks, the teacher, refuses to marry a 
trustee, who threatens to discharge her. The examination in- 
cludes recitations and songs, and brings out many funny answers 
to questions. At the close Robert Coleman, an old lover, claims 
the teacher. Very easy and very etTective. Price, 15 cents. 

BACK TO THE COUNTRY STORE. A Rural Enter- 
tainment in Three Acts, by Ward Macauley. For four male 
and five female characters, with some supers. Time, two hours. 
Two scenes, both easy interiors. Can be played etlectively with- 
out scenery. Costumes, modern. All the principal parts are 
sure hits. Quigley Higginbotham, known as "Quig," a cierk in 
a country store, aspires to be a great author or singer and 
decides to try his fortunes in New York. The last scene is in 
Quig's home. He returns a failure but is offered a partnership 
in the country store. He pops the question in the midst of a 
surprise party given in his honor. Easy to do and very funny. 
Price, 15 cents. 

THE DISTRICT CONVENTION. A Farcical Sketch 
in One Act, by Frank Dumont. For eleven males and one 
female, or twelve males. Any number of other parts or super- 
numeraries may be added. Plays forty-five minutes. No special 
scenery is required, and the costumes and properties are all 
easy. The play shows an uproarious political nominating con- 
vention. The climax comes when a woman's rights cham- 
pion, captures the convention. There is a great chance to bur- 
lesque modern politics and to v^'ork in local gags. Every 
part will make a hit. Price, 15 cents. 

SI SLOCUM'S COUNTRY STORE. An Entertainment 
in One Act, by Frank Dumont. Eleven male and five female 
characters with supernumeraries. Several parts may be doubled. 
Plays one hour. Interior scene, or may be played without set 
scenery. Costumes, modern. The rehearsal for an entertain- 
ment in the village church gives plenty of opportunity fur 
specialty work. A very jolly entertainment of the sort adapted 
to almost any place or occasion. Price, 15 cents. 

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 

PHILADELPHIA 



Unusually Good Entertainments 

Read One or More of These Before Deciding on 
Your Next Program 

A SURPRISE PARTY AT BRINKLEY'S. An En- 
tertainment in One Scene, by Ward Macauley. Seven male and 
seven female characters. Interior scene, or may be given with- 
out scenery. Costumes, modern. Time, one hour. By the 
author of the popular successes, "Graduation Day at Wood Hill 
School," "Back to the Country Store," etc. The villagers have 
planned a birthday surprise party for Mary Brinkley, recently 
graduated from college. They all join in jolly games, songs, 
conundrums, etc., and Mary becomes engaged, which surprises 
the surprisers. The entertainment is a sure success. Price, 15 cents,, 

JONES VS. JINKS. A Mock Trial in One Act, by 
Edward Mumford. Fifteen male and six female characters, with 
supernumeraries if desired. May be played all male. Many of the 
parts (members of the jury, etc.) are small. Scene, a simple 
interior ; may be played without scenery. Costumes, modern. 
Time of playing, one hour. This mock trial has many novel 
features, unusual characters and quick action. Nearly every 
character has a funny entrance and laughable lines. There are 
•many rich parts, and fast fun throughout. Price, 15 cents. 

THE SIGHT-SEEING CAR. A Comedy Sketch in One 
Act, by Ernest M. Gould. For seven males, two females, or 
may be all male. Parts may be doubled, with quick changes, so 
that four persons may play the sketch. Time, forty-five minutes. 
Simple street scene. Costumes, modern. The superintendent 
of a sight-seeing automobile engages two men to run the 
machine. A Jew, a farmer, a fat lady and other humorous 
characters give them all kinds of trouble. This is a regular gat- 
ling-gun stream of rollicking repartee. Price, 15 cents. 

THE CASE OF SMYTHE VS. SMITH. An Original 

Mock Trial in One Act, by Frank Dumont. Eighteen males 
and two females, or may be all male. Plays about one hour. 
Scene, a county courtroom ; requires no scenery ; may be played 
in an ordinary hall. Costumes, modern. This entertainment is 
nearly perfect of its kind, and a sure success. It can be easily 
produced in any place or on any occasion, and provides almost 
any number of good parts. Price, 15 cents. 

THE OLD MAIDS' ASSOCIATION. A Farcical Enter- 
tainment in One Act, by Louise Latham Wilson. For thirteen 
females and one male. The male part may be played by a 
female, and the number of characters increased to twenty or 
more. Time, forty mintites. The play requires neither scenery 
nor properties, and very little in the way of costumes. Can 
easily be prepared in one or two rehearsals. Price, 25 cents. 

BARGAIN DAY AT BLOOMSTEIN'S. A Farcical 

Entertainment in One Act, by Edward Mumford. For five males 
and ten females, with supers. Interior scene. Costumes, mod- 
ern. Time, thirty minutes. The characters and the situations 
which arise from their endeavors to buy and sell make rapid-fire 
fun from start to finish. Price, 15 cents. 

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 

PHILADELPHIA 



Successful Plays for All Girls 

In Selecting Your Next Play Do Not Overlook This List 

YOUNG DOCTOR DEVINE. A Farce in Two Acts, 
by Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow, One of the most popular 
plays for girls. For nine female characters. Time in 
playing, thirty minutes. Scenery, ordinary interior. Mod- 
ern costumes. Girls in a boarding-school, learning that a 
young doctor is coming to vaccinate all the pupils, eagerly con- 
sult each other as to the manner of fascinating the physician. 
When the doctor appears upon the scene the pupils discover that 
the physician is a female practitioner. Price, 15 cents. 

SISTER MASONS. A Burlesque in One Act, by Frank 
DuMONT. For eleven females. Time, thirty minutes. Costumes, 
fantastic gowns, or dominoes. Scene, interior. A grand expose 
of Masonry. Some women profess to learn the secrets of a 
Masonic lodge by hearing their husbands talk in their sleep, 
and they institute a similar organization. Price, 15 cents. 

A COMMANDING POSITION. A Farcical Enter- 
tainment, by Amelia Sanford. For seven female char- 
acters and ten or more other ladies and children. Time, one 
hour. Costumes, modern. Scenes, easy interiors and one street 
scene. Marian Young gets tired living with her aunt. Miss 
Skinflint. She decides to "attain a commanding position." 
Marian tries hospital nursing, college settlement work and 
school teaching, but decides to go back to housework. Price, 15 
cents. 

HOW A WOMAN KEEPS A SECRET. A Comedy 
in One Act, by Frank Dumont. For ten female characters. 
Time, half an hour. Scene, an easy interior. Costumes, modern. 
Mabel Sweetly has just become engaged to Harold, but it's "the 
deepest kind of a secret." Before announcing it they must win 
the approval of Harold's uncle, now in Europe, or lose a possible 
ten thousand a year. At a tea Mabel meets her dearest friend. 
Maude sees Mabel has a secret, she coaxes and Mabel tells her. 
But Maude lets out the secret in a fev/ minutes to another 
friend and so the secret travels. Price, 15 cents. 

THE OXFORD AFFAIR. A Comedy in Three Acts, 
by Josephine H. Cobb and Jennie E. Paine. For eight female 
characters. Plays one hour and three-quarters. Scenes, inter- 
iors at a seaside hotel. Costumes, modern. The action of the 
play is located at a summer resort. Alice Graham, in order to 
chaperon herself, poses as a widow, and Miss Oxford first claims 
her as a sister-in-law, then denounces her. The onerous duties 
of Miss Oxford, who attempts to serve as chaperon to Miss 
Howe and Miss Ashton in the face of many obstacles, furnish 
an evening of rare enjoyment. Price 15 cents. 

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 

PHILADELPHIA 



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